


Footprints

by DoctorBilly



Series: The Irregulars [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy and Greg have started up a detective agency. Arkady and Luce are on a case. Sherlock's peaceful life in Sussex is rudely disturbed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bees

"This way, sir."

Billy follows the uniformed policeman through swing doors and along a corridor. They reach a crowded waiting area, and make their way through it, dodging drunks and football supporters, winners and losers of fights, geriatrics in wheelchairs. Through another set of swing doors, this time controlled by a buzzer from inside, and there is relative calm.

The policeman leads Billy to the far end of a row of paper-curtained cubicles.

"He's in here, sir. Good luck."

Billy smiles his thanks and watches the policeman walk off down the corridor, nodding to nurses as he goes. Billy pulls the paper curtain aside and enters the cubicle.

"What happened?"

Sherlock stares at his brother through swollen and bloodshot eyes. His face and hands are puffy and look very sore. He doesn't speak.

"Sore throat?"

Sherlock opens his mouth as far as he can. His tongue is swollen, as is the inside of his mouth. He croaks weakly.

"Itches."

"Has a doctor seen you?"

"Can't tell. Doctors, nurses, orderlies. All look the same."

"I'll go and find out what they've diagnosed."

"Anaphylaxis. Bees."

"You got stung?"

Sherlock nods slightly.

"You've had antihistamine? Epinephrine? Adrenaline?"

Sherlock nods again. Billy relaxes a little.

"Did you know you were allergic?"

Sherlock nods.

"EpiPen. Lost it. Nine nine nine."

Billy shakes his head.

"Idiot."

The swollen area that was once Sherlock's lips quirks as far as it can.

"Yes."

 

*********

 

"Why are you here?"

Billy smiles. He has been dozing in a chair for hours. The swelling in Sherlock's face has slowly and gradually reduced and he sounds like himself again.

"Because I stupidly agreed to be your next of kin after you had the last big bust-up with Myc and you both disowned each other."

"Surely I wasn't ill enough to warrant my next of kin being called?"

Billy scowls.

"You were. Very ill. And I've told Mycroft."

Sherlock scowls in turn.

"He'll take over. I won't have any say in what happens to me…"

Billy hugs him.

"There's two of us. We won't let him take over. But he's _worried_ , Shezz."

Sherlock sighs.

"I don't think my bees are as fond of me as I am of them…"

"Maybe it's because you won't leave them alone. Observing a hive is one thing. Experimenting is another." Billy frowns. "Myc said this isn't the first time you've been badly stung."

"After the first time, they gave me the EpiPen. I've used it once or twice. I thought it was in my coat pocket…" Sherlock flushes. "Although I didn't actually check."

Billy huffs out a laugh.

"You think you're indestructible. Do you at least wear proper kit?"

"Yes. But they manage to get inside it. And they've found a way into the house. I think I am being deliberately targeted."

Sherlock laughs, shockingly loudly in the quiet hospital ward. Billy giggles as visitors at other patients' bedsides cluck and tut.

"You'll get yourself chucked out, Shezz."

"Good. I'd prefer to be gone before Mycroft gets here…"

"Don't be daft. At least he'll be able to rescue you from the NHS."

"Hmph. If he deigns to."

 

*****

 

"Do you intend to return to your cottage?"

Mycroft is clearly trying hard to be civilised. Billy is impressed.

"It is my _home_ , Mycroft. And besides, I don't have anywhere else to go."

Mycroft frowns.

"If you hadn't given away the house in Norfolk…"

"Val deserved it. I would have given him more if I'd had more. He helped John so much…"

Billy frowns.

"Haven't you got anywhere in London, Shezz?"

Sherlock shakes his head.

"No. I blew up the place I owned, in Montague Street." He smiles, wryly. "We rented Baker Street, of course. I was like you, Billy." He shrugs. "Determined to take as little from Siger as possible."

Billy smiles.

"You can stay with me in London. At least until the bees are dealt with."

"Exterminated…" Mycroft interjects matter-of-factly.

"No!"

"You can't do that!"

Mycroft raises an eyebrow, surprised that Billy and Sherlock are in such vehement agreement.

"Why?"

Billy scowls.

"Bees are important. Without bees, we'll be in trouble. Plants that rely on them for pollination will go extinct…"

"Ah. Environmental considerations…" Mycroft frowns. "Removed, then. The hives will have to be relocated."

Billy nods, relieved that the bees have earned a reprieve. Sherlock sighs.

"What will I do in London?"

"I don't know. Offer to help curate the exhibits in the Black Museum?"

Sherlock laughs.

"I doubt they would let me near their toys. But you are right. I have missed crime. What is Lestrade up to nowadays? Being a stay-at-home daddy?"

"No. He's doing some private investigating. Missing husbands, lost wills, that sort of thing."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

"Why would Lestrade involve himself in anything so boring?"

Billy shrugs.

"He's a detective. And it pays the bills."

Sherlock frowns.

"Does he work with the Met?"

"No. Unless someone asks him for advice."

"And you, Bill? What are you doing?"

"I'm writing a book. And doing some investigations of my own. Things that don't pay. Things that don't get properly looked at because the victims are addicts, or homeless…"

Sherlock steeples his fingers under his chin, closes his eyes for a few moments.

"So, you are both investigating…cases. How do they find you?"

Billy grins.

"Word of mouth, the homeless. Website for paying jobs. Artie Dughall's our webmaster. Keeps it looking pretty. We're getting quite a lot of interest."

"Hmm. I will take a look at your website. And perhaps go and visit Theo…"

Mycroft catches Billy's eye and nods, satisfied that Sherlock will not immediately return to Sussex. He clears his throat.

"Will you stay with Bill and Gregor in St Johns Wood?"

"What about the flat in Camden?"

"Frankie's living there. He helps Blue Charlie run the refuge when he's in between digs."

"Your boat?"

"Not a chance, Shezz. You'd blow it up, or burn it, with your experiments. And anyway, I've promised Micky Jay he can live on it for a while."

"St John's Wood it is then. For now."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Note:"Val" is Valentin Quinn, who was John Watson's nurse during his terminal illness. The last of my stories John appears in are in the [Chimæra](http://archiveofourown.org/series/144900) series.

 


	2. Niamh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frankie Knox unearths something interesting.

"This way, sir. Tread carefully, they go nuts if we put a foot outside the taped paths."

DImmock nods and follows the uniformed constable.

"Have you got a name for the lead archaeologist?"

"Yes sir. It's Dr Francis Knox."

"I might need a bagman…" He checks himself "Sorry. Bag- _woman_. It's constable Fairley, isn't it? Hang around, would you? Take some statements?"

The policewoman grins, surprised the DCI even knows her name. Acting as assistant to a DCI, even if only for one case, will look very good on her CV. She pulls out a notebook, as Dimmock pokes his head into a tent covering London's latest archaeological dig.

"Hello, Frankie. Is that a _man-bun_?"

Frankie Knox is bending over a deep trench. He straightens up and turns, smiling.

"Hi Theo." He pats the back of his head. "It keeps it out of the way. Don't want to cut it. You're looking…like a copper."

"Well…"

Both men laugh. Frankie waves an arm towards the trench.

"We've found something interesting."

Dimmock edges carefully over to the trench and peers in.

"Skeletal remains? Is that unusual in an archaeological dig?"

Frankie grins.

"No. Obviously not, since this is the edge of a battle site."

"This is Boadicea Street. Is it _her_?"

Frankie shakes his head.

"Boudicca, we usually call her nowadays. But no, it definitely isn't her. She didn't die in this battle. And these remains are not old enough. I'd say this skeleton is a _lot_ younger."

 

*********

 

"So why did you tell PC Fairley to ask for me specifically? Why not just let her call it in to her boss?"

Frankie grins.

"Thought it would be good to see an old friend. It's been a while."

Dimmock laughs.

"Not so much of the old, if you don't mind." He scratches the back of his neck. "Although I am feeling it a bit. Fairley can't be more than twelve…"

Dimmock sips from a cardboard cup of not very good coffee. Frankie pulls a face as he drinks his. At least the cup is warming his hands. The morning is cold and London's perpetual damp autumn fog has not yet lifted.

"How soon do you think it will be before we can start digging again?"

Dimmock shrugs.

"Can't say. A day or two. SOCOs are going to be hampered by your insistence on preserving the archaeology. We won't be able to get the body out quickly. Pity we can't x-ray the surrounding area, to see where there's anything that could be damaged…"

Frankie grimaces. When he speaks there is an edge to his voice.

"We could do with big Lucy. He's got some fancy geophys kit. Cutting-edge stuff for tight spaces."

"Call him in then." Dimmock lifts an eyebrow. "Or are you two still not friends?"

It is Frankie's turn to shrug.

"We're not best mates. But he works with me now and then. I'm good at reading geology. He's on holiday though. In the Caribbean. On a yacht."

Dimmock scowls

"All right for some…"

Both men look up at the sounds of a disturbance outside the tent. Dimmock hears a voice he has grown used to over the last few months. He gets up from the plastic crate he has been sitting on, pokes his head out of the tent opening.

"It's all right Fairley. Let him through."

Micky Jay pulls on the hem of his donkey-jacket to straighten it, throws the end of his very long scarf over his shoulder, and swaggers into the tent. He doesn't notice the _look_ that Constable Niamh Fairley aims between his shoulder blades. Dimmock does, and chuckles.

"Come in Micky. I suppose _he's_ interested in this. How did he hear about it so quickly?"

Frankie throws Dimmock a sheepish sort of glance.

"Um. I phoned Bill to ask if he knew where Lucy…" he checks himself. "Where _Lucien_ is. I expect he called Sherlock."

Micky Jay nods, busy pulling a camera out of his pocket.

"I'm to take pictures and send them to him. He might want to look at the actual site, Dr Knox…"

Frankie sighs.

"It'll be here for a while. Is he coming up from Sussex?"

Micky grins.

"If he thinks it's interesting enough. I might be bothering you and the cops for information for him before he decides. He'll probably need to talk to Mr Dimmock, here."

Dimmock scowls. He has worked this way with Sherlock twice now. Micky Jay acting as Sherlock's legs, his camera and smartphone acting as eyes. The first time had been a disaster. The second time, compromises having been made on both sides, things had been a little better.

"Liaise with Constable Fairley."

Dimmock makes a mental note to second the uniformed officer into his team. He needs someone to keep a weather eye on the _Irregulars_ , and a female perspective on some of their activities could prove useful. He knows Billy Wiggins prefers to work with Sally Donovan, but he also knows that in the absence of the now-retired Greg Lestrade, he, Dimmock, is Sherlock's choice of copper. He calls Niamh into the tent.

"Constable Fairley, this is Micky Jay. He is an… associate of Sherlock Holmes, who you might have heard of…"

"Yes sir. My mum was a real fan of his."

Dimmock scowls.

"Your _mum_? Right. How old are you, Fairley?"

"Twenty, sir. Joined up at eighteen. Finished my probation two months ago."

Dimmock smiles.

"Good. I'm going to ask for you to be seconded to my team at the Yard. I've got a feeling that Holmes is going to involve himself in this case, and that means it'll be mine. I'll need a new assistant for this one. Let's see if you're made of sterner stuff than the rest of my team. You'll be in plain clothes, of course. Be prepared for mud and blood." He grins at Niamh's shocked expression. "It might be a very short stint in CID. Sherlock sometimes solves six impossible cases before breakfast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boadicea Street is a real place, near Kings Cross in London. The Iceni, Queen Boudicca's tribe, really did fight a battle there.


	3. Verre-de-mer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arkady and Luce are in big trouble. Sherlock is suspicious. Sally has some advice for a new recruit.

"I think he's _high_."

Luce keeps his voice as low as possible. He and Arkady are watching their guard carefully.

"Da. He has stolen my painkillers. They will do him no good."

Arkady grins a shark grin that does nothing to allay Luce's nervousness. The two men should have been on the final leg of their cruise from Martinique to Venezuela, should have been preparing to hand over the yacht to its new owner. Instead, the _Verre-de-mer_ is tied up alongside a trawler in the Atlantic and they are tied to the mast, watching their crew strip the yacht of anything valuable and load it all aboard the trawler.

"What's in them?"

"Do not ask."

"Will they leave us here?"

"No, Luka. We also are valuable as hostages. They will take us."

Luce swallows, feeling sick.

"Are they _pirates_?"

"Da. Be quiet now. Do not antagonise them."

Luce clamps his teeth together and watches with horror as the crew bring up crates from the hold. The crates clearly contain weapons. Arkady, tied up next to him, feels him tremble. He whispers, _sotto voce_.

"Hidden compartments in the hold. You could not know. I am sorry."

Luce does not answer. Lestrade's story suddenly sounds very implausible. " _Do me a favour. I've got a job I can't do myself, it's half term, and I need to spend time with Hero. Pick up a yacht in Martinique for a client. Deliver it to him in Venezuela. Have a nice cruise in the Caribbean while you're at it. See you in a fortnight._ "

Clearly, Arkady knew there were guns on board. Clearly, he was also expecting the pirates. Luce knows all he can do is follow Arkady's instructions. " _Right_ ," he thinks. " _Be quiet. Don't antagonise them_." He shudders and closes his eyes as shots ring out and two of the Verre-de-mer's crew tumble over the side into the sea. He feels the ropes holding him to the mast slacken, and he is shoved roughly along the deck. Arkady is a few steps ahead of him. Luce waits for a signal to do something. There is no signal. Arkady climbs a rope ladder and disappears onto the deck of the trawler. Luce follows, slowly, holding down panic as the ladder sways and swings with the swell of the sea.

 

*********

 

"This is a ludicrous situation, Lestrade. How can you expect to run a successful agency if two of your three detectives are on holiday and unavailable at the same time?"

"It was a quiet period, Sherlock. We didn't have many cases on the books." Lestrade sighs. "I agree that delivering a boat doesn't really warrant two couriers, but it's their anniversary, and they didn't get a proper honeymoon…"

"Sentiment." Sherlock sniffs. "I need Lucien's modified geophysics equipment. When are they due back?"

Lestrade frowns.

"Actually, they were due back yesterday."

Sherlock narrows his eyes, stares at Lestrade.

"What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing, Sherlock. Could just be bad weather holding them up."

Sherlock pulls out his mobile phone and swipes through several screens.

"No. The weather has been good. You are keeping a secret, Lestrade. And not very well. I smell _Mycroft_ on the Caribbean breeze…"

 

*********

 

Niamh knocks on DI Sally Donovan's door, and is surprised when Sally opens the door herself, rather than shouting " _Come in_ ", or a variant.

"Ma'am? DCI Dimmock said I should ask your opinion on a group called the Irregulars…"

Sally grins.

"Got an hour or two? Let's go and get a sandwich." She gets up and ushers the young constable ahead of her, frowning at Niamh's clothing. "I wouldn't wear those clothes for work with Theo."

Niamh looks down at her outfit. She had thought it was fine, a neat trouser suit and blouse, low heeled slip-on shoes, shoulder bag.

"What's wrong with it, ma'am?"

"The style is fine, but the fabric is too thin for this time of year. Theo's hands-on, likes to clamber around crime scenes. You'll be outside a lot. Get a thicker jacket. Or a coat to wear over the top of your suit. Otherwise you'll freeze. I'd recommend wool for the winter, cotton or linen for the summer. Tee shirts are better than blouses. Easier to move in them. Get lace-up shoes rather than slip-ons. Or better still, boots. Less chance of losing them when you're chasing down a villain. Lengthen your bag strap and wear it cross-body. Keep a thin jumper in your bag, and a pair of ballet flats to wear while your outdoor shoes are drying out." She laughs. "You'll get wet through on average once a week."

Niamh laughs

"I'm only seconded for one case, ma'am…"

Sally shakes her head.

"If he's sent you to me for briefing, he's meaning to keep you on." She pushes open a cafe door. "This place does the best all-day breakfast. Get out of the habit of keeping regular hours."

The two women order and take seats at a window table.

"The Irregulars, ma'am?"

Sally nods.

"A loose group of clever people who investigate stuff."

"Stuff, ma'am?"

"Mm. Missing husbands, lost wills…"

"Private detectives?"

"On the surface. One of the founders of the group is ex DCI Greg Lestrade."

"I've heard of him. Didn't he bring down the anti-monarchist conspiracy a few years back?"

Sally smiles.

"Not just him. His co-founder helped, big time. You might have heard of him as well. Sir Bill Wiggins?"

"Yes, ma'am. He's a scientist, isn't he?"

"Mm. Really clever. Very interested in the rights of minority groups and the disadvantaged. He consults with me if there's a link between his cases and ours."

Sally breaks off to allow the waiter to set coffee and breakfast on the table. She loads her coffee with sugar before continuing.

"There's others. The Yegorovs, married couple. Arkady and Luce. Both ex-police, but Arkady's ex Russian police. Luce used to be my sergeant. Arkady's a good investigator. Luce is a hacker. Really good with computers and tech."

"They're both men?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, ma'am. It's just that the names aren't obviously male."

Sally smiles.

"You mean Arkady? It's probably one of the most male Russian names there is. There's no female version of it, apparently."

"I was thinking more of Luce…"

"Oh, right. Short for Lucien."

Niamh nods.

"Is Sherlock Holmes one of the gang?"

"Peripherally. He works with Theo occasionally. You're more likely to run into his sidekick…"

"Micky Jay. We've met."

"And you're not impressed." Sally laughs. "He was a street kid. Used to hang around Wiggins when he was plain old Dr Bill. He got hurt during the big conspiracy, and disappeared. He was fourteen. Turned up in London again just over a year ago. He'd been living in France, at one of Wiggins's places. Speaks three languages pretty well. Very observant. Fights like a tiger if he or his people are cornered. Couldn't ask for more in terms of loyalty. He does think he's god's gift though. Not used to being around women much. He must be eighteen now…"

Niamh helps herself to buttered toast, mops up tomato juices and egg yolk.

"What about Dr Knox?"

"Frankie? Another clever bugger. Archaeologist, academic type, but he plays ice hockey in his spare time. Likes to wear a dress now and then, and gets mistaken for a woman when he does. You'll see why. But he's not transvestite or transgender as far as I know. He just refuses to accept convention. He'll try to shock you. Don't let him."

Niamh nods

"Um, ma'am. I got the impression that he and DCI Dimmock were…"

Sally purses her lips.

"They are good friends. There might have been something…" She checks herself. "It's irrelevant, anyway. Don't gossip, keep an open mind. And remember that they're all _really_ clever. That's my best advice."

"Yes ma'am. Is there anything else I should know?"

"You'll pick things up as you go along. Make time to get to know Luce. He's got some clever apps and widgets you'll want on your phone. Best tracking software I've ever come across." She smiles. "Don't let them freeze you out. Make sure you ask for regular updates from Theo and Micky. And don't take any nonsense from Sherlock."

"Yes, ma'am."


	4. Three days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's investigation is held up…

Niamh shivers, wishing she had had time to follow DI Donovan's advice. Her feet are wet and freezing. She has stepped out of a stuck-in-the-mud shoe twice in the last ten minutes, and the hems of her trousers are filthy. She sighs. It will take a dry-cleaner to get them clean. She will need to use her already maxed-out credit card to buy new trousers. And some boots.

"All right?"

Niamh jumps, jolted out of her self-pitying wallow by Micky Jay nudging her arm. She nods towards Sherlock, flat on his belly, head hanging over the edge of the trench, arm at full stretch, dentists mirror angled to give a view of the underside of the lip of the ledge he is lying on.

"Does he always work like this?"

"Nah. Sometimes he does it all from inside his mind palace."

"His mind palace? Where's that?"

Micky shrugs.

"In his mind, of course. He's brilliant. So's his brother."

"His brother? There's two of them?"

"Three, actually. But I only have dealings with Sherlock and Dr Wiggins. Sir Bill, I mean."

"People keep dropping Sir Bill Wiggins's name into conversations. I haven't met him…"

"You might not. He doesn't work with Mr Dimmock much. His investigations aren't usually high-profile enough to warrant a DCI's attention."

"You think a lot of Sir Bill. Your voice gives it away."

"He saved my life. More than once. Gave me a safe place when I was a kid. Educated me. He lets me live on his boat…"

"His boat?"

"Houseboat. Camden Lock. Look, if you're Mr Dimmock's sidekick, I ought to have your phone number. In case Sherlock needs to get in touch…"

Niamh nods and hands over her phone. Micky takes slightly too long to type in his own number and text himself before handing the phone back. Niamh checks her contacts. Micky has attached his business card to his name, and added a photograph of himself, looking as suave as an eighteen year old with freckles and a gap between his front teeth can. Niamh smiles to herself.

"Micky! Come and have a look at this."

' _This_ ' turns out to be a slight discolouration of the soil in one side of the trench.

"What does it mean, Mr Holmes?"

"Could be one of several things. We need Lucien Yegorov to confirm my theory." Sherlock grins. "This is more interesting than I expected it would be."

He straightens up and dusts himself off.

"I suggest that you do some research, Micky. Ask Dr Knox for some accessible reading on soil discolouration. See if you can come up with a theory of your own."

"Righto, Mr Holmes. I'll go and see him." He turns to Niamh. "Want to come?"

Niamh shakes her head.

"Mr Dimmock wants me to get a report from Mr Holmes. Maybe we could get a coffee sometime?"

Micky grins.

"I'll call you."

 

*********

 

"When will he be back, Mycroft?"

Mycroft leans back in his chair.

"In three days, I think. The operation he is involved in is at a critical point."

"Ah. I _thought_ there must be more to his trip than a second honeymoon in the Caribbean."

Sherlock waits for more explanation. None is forthcoming. Mycroft pours tea for himself, offers a cup to Sherlock, who refuses, but accepts a Bourbon biscuit.

"Is this skeleton of Dr Knox's important, do you think?"

Sherlock frowns.

"Not archaeologically significant. But it interests me. I need Lucien. Frankie will not allow me to dig in the trench until he has done a full geophysical survey. Lucien's equipment can be used up close to a point of interest. And he has worked with Frankie before."

Mycroft sips his tea.

"Three days, Sherlock. Be patient."


	5. Alive is enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luce and Arkady have an adventure at sea. Mycroft comes to the rescue. Eventually.

"How you feelin' mate?"

Luce screws his eyes up against the bright light. He tries to turn toward the voice, groans as his whole body protests.

"Like I've been sat on by an elephant…"

The stranger chuckles.

"Yeah. Water always feels harder than it looks. You're a bit bruised, but no real damage. Best to get up and move before you stiffen up. Shower and head behind that door." He nods toward the corner of what Luce realises is a stateroom. "It's a bit cramped, but better than crew facilities. And a lot better than what you left behind. Name's Bruce, by the way."

Luce groans again as he sits up on the edge of the bunk. He looks around, sees clothing, not his own, in a pile on a folding chair.

"Lucien. Is that for me?"

"Yeah. Your own stuff's pretty much only fit for burning. If it was dry enough." The man laughs. "Couldn't persuade anyone to give up their shoes for you, but I have found some gumboots. They might be a bit big."

Luce smiles his thanks and winces his way to the shower. The mirror is not very big, but it does give him a reasonable view of the technicolor mess of bruises covering most of his body. He showers briefly, uses the head and emerges to the smell of coffee. He drinks while he dresses. Jersey underpants, a reasonable fit. Slouchy jeans, a little big in the waist, a little short in the legs, and a yellow t-shirt, bearing a design in red. Luce recognises it as the logo of an Australian exploration team, currently deployed in the South Atlantic Ocean, and affiliated to his own Icelandic climate research group. There is a thick-knit cream jumper, that Luce pulls on gratefully. He turns his attention to socks and rubber boots. The socks are wool, slightly itchy, but warm. The boots are ridiculous, looser and floppier than any Wellington boots he has ever seen before. He guesses they are meant to be worn over deck shoes. He pulls them on, and folds down the tops twice. " _Beggars can't be choosers_ ", he thinks. He has no idea how he comes to be relatively comfortably, and presumably safely, aboard an Australian survey ship.

There is a knock at the door, and a head pokes into the room.

"All fit?"

Luce nods, a little bemused.

"Okay. Let's go and get some tucker inside you, before your mate eats it all."

"My mate?"

Luce lets out a breath he hasn't realised he was holding.

"Yeah. Russki."

Luce grins.

"Is he all right?"

"Yeah. In slightly better shape than you, I think. Ward room's just down here."

Bruce takes a short, steep flight of steps in three jumps, pushes open a door a few yards beyond the stairs. Luce follows a little more carefully. Inside, there is a huge, room-filling table. At one end, there is a selection of breakfast foods and plates. At the other end, papers are spread, seemingly randomly. Three men are poring over the papers. One of the men is Arkady.

"Help yourself." Bruce points Luce to the food. "Chas, William, this here's Lucien."

The men look up. Luce thinks he has never seen Arkady looking so tired. He nods acknowledgement to Chas and William and braces himself for Arkady's bear hug. It does not come. Instead, Arkady walks to the buffet end of the table and loads up a plate of eggs, beans and toast, which he hands to Luce.

"Eat."

His voice is rough, and his eyes look red and dry. Luce blinks.

"Have you slept?"

"No. I have been busy. Sleep can wait."

Luce frowns.

"How long have I been out?"

Arkady shrugs

"Five hours, perhaps. You needed to rest."

"I need some explanations, Arkady."

"Da. Later. For now, we have a problem." He waves toward the papers spread over the desk. "The pirates are still quite close by. We have schematics for a ship of the type they are using. We need to disable them without sinking them."

Luce blinks.

"Why haven't they just sailed away? Have we radioed for help?"

"We have, but it will take many hours before another ship can reach us. The pirates may be assessing this ship as a target. They must realise we have no weapons. Normally, survey ships are left alone, but we have seen their faces."

" _Could_ we sink them?"

"Da. Possibly. There are some exploration tools on board this ship that could be weaponised, given enough time. Your skills would be invaluable in this."

Luce takes a moment to digest this.

"Tell me why you don't want to sink them."

"I think they might be persuaded to give up information. Of course, they have real weapons, so we must approach them carefully. A dinghy might slip under their radar…"

Luce stares at Arkady.

"I am not going to help you try to get back on board that ship."

"Luka…"

" _No_." He turns to Bruce. "I need a computer, and as much processing capacity as you can give me."

Arkady frowns

"Luka?"

"Got an idea. Let me see those schematics."

 

*********

 

"I can't do it."

"You can."

Arkady checks Luce's harness and attaches his safety line to the zip wire.

"What if I fall?"

"You will not."

"The line might break…"

"It will not. Luka, this is safer than trying to cross in a dinghy. Trust me."

Luce clamps his teeth on the retort that wants to come out of his mouth. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and steps off the side of the ship. Moments later, it seems, hands are grasping him and helping him down to the deck of the ship waiting off the stern. Luce sighs with relief and opens his eyes to the surprising sight of Mycroft Holmes in a fur-edged parka.

"Ah, Lucien. You survived the trip, I see."

Luce scowls.

"Yes. I hope I was meant to."

Mycroft frowns.

"I'm not sure I follow your meaning, Lucien."

"Arkady threw me into the sea. He knew about the pirates…"

"I can assure you, he did not. He was given the same instructions as you were. To collect a yacht from Martinique and deliver it to Venezuela. If he threw you into the sea, it must have been for a good reason."

They hear shouts and turn in time to see Arkady landing. He is grinning as he unhooks himself and strides across the deck to envelop his husband in a hug, gently, so as not to cause Luce more pain from his bruises.

"I'm still waiting for you to explain…"

"Da. But first, I must discover why Mycroft is here. He does not often conduct debriefings himself."

"I have something for you, Major."

"For me?" Arkady raises an eyebrow. "Something you must deliver in person?"

"Something I would _like_ to deliver in person."

Mycroft smiles and hands Arkady a handgun and holster. Arkady's grin grows shark-like.

"I am reinstated?"

Mycroft nods.

"Yes. Congratulations on a successful mission outcome."

Luce is watching this interchange carefully.

"It was a test." His voice is flat. "You were testing him."

"Yes."

"But those pirates…"

"Were real, I assure you. It was a real mission, disguised as an innocuous delivery run."

"When they started bringing those crates up out of the hold, he wasn't surprised."

Arkady smiles, briefly.

"Luka, when I saw the name of the yacht, it made my teeth itch."

"What?"

"It made me suspicious. ' _Verre-de-mer_ '…"

Luce frowns.

"What? _Oh_. Glass of the sea. Sea-Glass."

Arkady nods.

"Da. We know of another boat called SeaGlass, of course. It made me suspicious. I searched below decks and found the hidden compartments."

"You made friends with the skipper."

"Not exactly. I made him think I was trying to make friends. I shared my drugs…"

"What drugs?"

"Painkillers. Strong morphine, but he did not know that. He thought they were recreational. A secret from you, I told him. The morphine was enough to make him high. And I gave him a red pill."

"You've been taking _morphine_?"

"Very occasionally. But he thought I was a habitual user. I commiserated when the red pill did not work. A bad batch…"

Luce smiles for the first time since sliding down the zip wire. It is a faint smile. The idea of Arkady taking morphine is disturbing.

"You got him to swallow a tracker? Clever."

"I thought it might be helpful. I had to swallow a second one myself, of course. So my own signal will look strange."

Mycroft follows the conversation intently, giving a little prod now and then.

"So the skipper of the yacht was the man who let you up on the deck of the pirate ship?"

"Da. For fresh air. I traded him my last strip of painkillers."

Luce scowls.

"That's when you threw me overboard."

"Da. They had been talking. They did not know I understand their language. They spoke of another ship approaching, of disposal of the hostages. Of rape, before cutting throats. We could not stay on that ship. Better to be taken by sharks."

"Were there sharks?"

Arkady smiles.

"I did not see any. But I did hear the engines of the survey ship. The skipper fired a distress flare as I jumped. I think he thought it would help him see us in the water. But they were moving away, and the flare helped our rescuers instead. I was only one second behind you, Luka, and they were searching for us already. I think we have Mycroft to thank for that."

"Yes. We had your tracker signals, of course. The Australians were in the region, by good luck. It has taken a little longer for me to get here." Mycroft smiles broadly. "I was very impressed by your alternative to scuppering the pirate ship, Lucien. Hacking into their navigation computers, steering them remotely. Very clever. I would like a brief report on your methods, if you please."

Mycroft speaks to the captain of the Navy vessel briefly, then ushers Arkady and Luce towards a waiting helicopter. They strap in and wait to lift off. Luce leans against Arkady, who is strapped in beside him.

"Are you going to keep that?"

Arkady rubs the stubble on his chin.

"Perhaps. It will be warm for winter."

"You look like an Icelandic fisherman."

"I will fit in if I go with you to Reykjavik."

"Would you? Go with me, I mean?"

"Da. But I will not eat sheep head."

The helicopter engines start, drowning out speech. After a while, Luce finds and switches on the headset built into his helmet.

"It was a long drop off that ship. I hit the water hard."

"I know. There was no time for me to persuade you to jump. I am sorry. You are very bruised."

"Yeah. And I have to wear these stupid boots."

"They are warmer than mine, I expect."

Arkady is wearing an old and battered pair of plimsolls; obviously someone's cast-offs.

"Morphine, Arkady?"

Arkady sighs.

"Sometimes, I have pain where my toes used to be."

Luce lets out a little moan of sympathy.

"Phantom limb pains. I didn't realise…"

"Da. Sometimes, I need a little help. So that I can sleep." He shrugs. "It is rare that I need to take it. Perhaps once or twice in a month. The pain will go in time, the doctors say."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"It is a weakness."

"You don't have to be invincible, Arkady. Alive is enough."


	6. Gold and brass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy gets a shock.

Luce sighs as he packs up his equipment.

"That's the best I can give you, Frankie. There's definitely layering. Newer soil, less compacted, on this side of the trench. Something that could be remains or artefacts. Impossible to tell which from these images. You'll need to dig."

"Are you sure it's already been disturbed?"

"Yes, but not for a long time. Then something planted there. Thirty years ago, maybe…"

"Could it be nearer to twenty?"

Luce jumps at the sound of a deep baritone voice, coming from the entrance to the tent. He turns.

"It could, I suppose. You'd need forensics…"

Sherlock nods, and turns to Frankie.

"I'm afraid you are about to be overrun with scene of crime officers."

Frankie grimaces.

"The skeleton was a crime victim?"

"Hmm. Bullet through the back of the skull. I would speculate that it was an execution. But there will be an investigation. They will want to see what Lucien has found for you."

 

*********

 

"He's visiting the Yegorovs." Lestrade smiles. "He's plotting with Luce."

Dimmock smiles.

"Plotting?"

Lestrade laughs out loud.

"Surprise party for me. Don't pretend you don't know."

Dimmock grins sheepishly.

"No comment. How old _are_ you this year?"

Lestrade frowns.

"Too old. Coming up for sixty four."

Dimmock starts humming the old Beatles song. Lestrade flicks at him with a tea towel.

"Pack it in, T. It's not funny. I'll tell him you were looking for him."

Dimmock scrubs his hands through his hair.

"This can't really wait."

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and swipes a thumb across a number. He sends a text, and smiles briefly when the reply comes.

"What's on your mind, T?"

Dimmock smiles, teeth-only. Lestrade can tell a fake smile when he sees one. He raises an eyebrow. Dimmock flushes.

"Just something I need Bill to take a look at. Might be nothing." He puts his phone away and pats his pockets, checking for car keys. "I'll talk to you later, Greg."

 

*********

 

"It's a _monster_ of a thing. What a weird present."

Billy laughs as Arkady takes mock-offence.

"It is traditional. I will be able to offer guests a proper cup of tea. I was very pleased to receive it." Arkady fills the samovar with water and switches it on. "Although I have never used an electric one before."

Luce grins.

"Only seems fair. I've got an espresso maker…"

Billy laughs again.

"But it's _grotesque_. It spoils the look of the kitchen."

Luce sighs, opens his mouth to retort and is saved by the door bell. He takes a deep breath and goes to answer it to Theo Dimmock and his assistant.

"Theo, thank goodness. Come in and please let Arkady give you a cup of tea. Bill's being an arse about his new samovar."

He nods hello to Niamh, and ushers the two detectives into the kitchen. Arkady smiles a welcome and gets two more teacups out of the dresser. Dimmock takes his cup and sits down at the oversized kitchen table. Niamh joins him and places a file of papers on the table.

"Bill, I want you to take a look at some photographs. Do you want to do it here, or somewhere more private?"

Billy giggles

"Am I doing anything compromising in them?"

Dimmock smiles faintly. The smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. Billy doesn't notice. Luce does, and braces himself.

'They're pictures of an object, Bill. But you might be able to help us with identification."

"Oh. All right. Show me."

Dimmock nods to Niamh, who slides a photograph out of the file and pushes it across the table to Billy. Billy looks at the picture of a gold locket. It is oval, with a flower chased into the front. The chain it is on has been broken and repaired, amateurishly, with an odd-sized link. Billy blanches.

"Is there a picture of the inside?"

Dimmock narrows his eyes.

"Do you recognise it, Bill?"

"Maybe…"

Niamh looks at Dimmock, notes the slight nod of his head and slides a second photograph across the table. The second picture shows the locket, opened and laid flat. On the right side, under the picture frame arrangement common to lockets of this age and type, is a picture, clearly cut from a larger photograph. The picture is a head and shoulders shot of a young boy, perhaps nine or ten years old. Unruly black hair and pale bluish eyes. It is hard to tell the exact colour. A bruise on his cheek and a cut and swollen lip. School shirt, tie and blazer. Badge on the blazer pocket half-visible.

"We've identified the uniform as Taunton school…"

"It's me. My first secondary school photo." Billys voice is flat. "The locket's my mum's. I mended the chain. Where did you find it?"

Luce leans over Billys shoulder to look at the photograph.

"You'd been in a fight. Your lip…" He notices Billy biting his lip and pauses. "No. You'd been bullied. How old were you?"

"Eleven. I was small for my age. I didn't know she'd cut this bit of the group picture out to put in her locket. I just noticed she didn't put the group photo on the wall." His voice trembles. "Where did you find the locket, Theo?"

Dimmock takes the photographs back.

"It turned up at a crime scene. Bill, can you remember if your mother had had any old injuries? Broken bones, that sort of thing?"

"Yeah. She broke her left arm three times, maybe more, but I know about three times. She said she fell down the stairs the first time. The second time I knew it was my… it was Charlie Wiggins that broke it. I was away at school when she broke it the third time. Have you found her? Where is she? Is she dead?"

Dimmock reaches across the table and pats Billy's hand.

"What do you know about Frankie's archaeological dig?"

Billy frowns.

"It's near Kings Cross. I remember it being a dig before, when I was a kid. Something to do with Boadicea. They knocked down an old row of shops, and wanted to build houses, but they found arrowheads and stuff. It held up the building work for years." He smiles. "It happened again when they knocked the houses down to make way for the railway. Frankie got called in to look at it. Him and Sherlock were getting ants in their pants waiting for Lucien to come back from the Caribbean to do a geophys survey…"

Dimmock nods.

"Frankie found human bones. Skeleton of a six foot or so man, big frame, broad shoulders. Bullet hole in the back of the skull."

Billy frowns again.

"A man? What's this got to do with my mum's locket?"

Dimmock takes a deep breath.

"The body had been in the ground for around twenty five years, Bill. Luce's survey indicated there might be another body. It's taken a few days, but we have managed to retrieve the remains of a female, about five feet four. The locket was around her neck."

"You asked about injuries…"

"There is evidence of several healed fractures of the left humerus. There are other healed injuries, too. Did your stepfather batter your mother, Bill?"

Billy gets up from the table.

"I need a cigarette."

He turns to Arkady, who is leaning against the sink. watching the proceedings.

"I've run out…"

Arkady nods and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Billy crosses the kitchen to take one from him, and crumples. Arkady catches him before he can fall, and hugs him briefly. He helps him out to the terrace, and settles him on a wire work chair. Billy grabs Arkady around the waist and holds on tight. Arkady strokes his hair.

Dimmock looks at Luce and shrugs.

"Did he drive here?"

"Motorbike. He probably shouldn't ride it home, if he's in shock. Are you sure it's his mother? Was she shot, like the male victim?"

"No. Possibly broken neck, from the relative positions of the vertebrae and skull. Bill told me that his mother and stepfather disappeared when he was sixteen. He came home from university one weekend, and they'd gone, no forwarding address. Neighbours thought they'd done a moonlight flit, to avoid debt-collectors. The area they lived in was rough, poor. No one investigated the disappearance. Bill had been in care, on and off, for years. He thought they'd just left as well."

Luce looks toward the terrace and frowns. Arkady is holding Billy tight and rocking him, murmuring something soothing-sounding in Russian.

"Theo, can you take Bill home?"

Dimmock nods.

"I'll get someone over to pick up the motorbike."

"I can do that, sir." Niamh grins at Dimmock's look of surprise. "I've had bikes since I was seventeen."

Dimmock and Luce step out onto the terrace. Billy is still holding tightly to Arkady, who is starting to feel a little awkward, conscious of Luce's blank gaze.

"Bill, DC Fairley has offered to ride your bike to St Johns Wood. Can she use your helmet?"

"I need it…"

Billy lets go of Arkady and stands up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You don't. I'm going to give you a lift. Come on."

Billy nods and turns, gives Arkady a kiss that he is not expecting.

"Thanks for letting me cry on you."

Arkady shrugs.

"No thanks are needed, Billi. I am your friend."

 

*********

 

Luce waits until the police car and Billy's Kawasaki are out of sight, then walks slowly back upstairs to the flat. He hears Arkady swearing in Russian before he gets to the front door.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get this thing back into its box. It came out. It should go back in…"

"Why are you trying to pack it away?" Luce frowns. "Don't you like it?"

Arkady turns, anxiety etched on his face.

"I like it very much. But Billi was right. It does not match the look of the kitchen…"

Luce scowls, and looks around. In the year since he and Arkady moved in, the kitchen has changed a good deal. Old linoleum has been pulled up to reveal black and white tiles on the floor. Walls have been painted in _Elephant's Breath,_ a pale mauvish-grey; woodwork, an old dresser and new cabinets are in _London Clay_ , a much darker but still warm grey.

Work surfaces are shiny black marble. Appliances, including the original range cooker, a new and enormous Smeg refrigerator and Luce's espresso machine, are gloss white. There are no blinds or curtains at the full length window. Luce has persuaded Arkady to install security glass. People outside the kitchen can not see in, even at night when the lights are on; anyone inside can see out, to the terrace and the pots of herbs Luce cares for lovingly. Access to the terrace from the kitchen is via a full-length sash window, its sill a foot or so from the floor; easy to step over.

A large white-washed table fills one corner of the room, with a haphazard collection of steel and aluminium chairs and stools pushed under it. The wall behind the table, between the corner of the room and the window, is the only one not painted grey. Instead, it has been painted matt black, over a coat of metallised paint, the final effect being a floor-to ceiling magnetic chalkboard.

Luce smiles. The samovar, bright ornate brass, certainly stands out.

"This is not Bill's kitchen. It's not up to him to decide what matches and what doesn't. I chose that samovar because I thought you would love it. I think it looks great against the grey and the black. Keep it out, please."

Arkady smiles.

"It reminds me of Siberia, a little. Thank you."

Luce leans against the edge of the table, watching as Arkady carefully sets up the samovar again.

"Will you ever go back there, do you think?"

"No. My home is here now. With you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Beatles: When I'm 64 ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ViKkjSzdwL4)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Billy and Luce _were_ plotting a surprise party for Greg, whose birthday is at Halloween.
> 
> You can get electric samovars. The burner underneath is replaced with a kettle element. (Also, almost no-one uses a stove-top kettle in the UK. Electric kettles are the norm.)
> 
> Elephant's Breath and London Clay are Farrow and Ball paint colours.


	7. We need to talk about Billy…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's anxious. And some secrets are being kept.

Arkady is worried. Luce has been unnaturally quiet for a day or so. The kitchen work tops haver never been so clean, the cupboards so well-organised. Arkady recognises displacement activity when he sees it. He casts around for a reason. Lights on Billy's reaction to Dimmock's photographs, and Luce's response to Billy's reaction.

"It was a shock for Billi, discovering his mother did not abandon him."

Luce sighs, relieved that Arkady has picked up the reason for his anxiety by himself.

"Yes, it must have been. But it's just…I don't know. It's like he was using it as an excuse to get near you…"

"He wanted a cigarette. I offered one…"

"He was lying about not having cigarettes of his own. He sparked one up on the way downstairs."

"He was upset. Perhaps he wanted a hug…"

"Theo was at the table with him. He would have hugged him. _I_ would have hugged him. He pushed _past_ me to get to you."

Arkady rubs his forehead.

"He was upset. What does it matter?"

"You know he doesn't really like the idea of us. Me and you…"

Arkady blinks.

"I do not understand, Luka. What makes you say this?"

"He _told_ me he disapproves. I thought he was joking, at first. Not so sure now. He doesn't think I'm good enough for you, I expect." Luce takes a deep breath. "I think he still thinks you're his."

"I have not been his for a long time. And he and Grisha…"

Luce frowns

"They don't sleep together, you know. Separate rooms…"

Arkady furrows his brow

"Nevertheless…"

Luce laughs, bitterly.

"I should have realised, really."

Arkady opens his mouth to speak, can't find any words, closes it again. Luce continues.

"You never properly broke up. He thought of your relationship with Sherlock as you being lonely, looking for comfort. He was all prepared to forgive you…"

"I explained to him what had happened. He knew it was over…"

"He doesn't _remember_. It's in his lost time."

"Are you sure you are not misreading things, Luka?"

"Yes. I thought, when he moved back in with Greg, that he was coming to terms with it. But it was just so Greg could look after him, wasn't it?"

"Da, perhaps. But there is also Hero Luziya, and Grisha loves him…"

Arkady frowns. He can see Luce is worried.

"He just seems to ignore the fact that we're together…"

"He is a Holmes. They see the world their own way, all of them. And they do not like to share." Arkady pulls Luce into a tight hug. "But even if he does want me, I am not available to him. I am a married man now, Luka. And I love my husband very much."

 

*********

 

Dimmock stares out of the sixth-floor window. He has a good view of the Thames, grey and sluggish today. It is a mirror-image of the late October sky. He shudders.

"Bill recognised the locket, and described broken bones that correspond with healed fractures of the humerus. It seems pretty certain that the female skeleton is the remains of his mother. The long bones of the male skeleton indicate that he was tall, well-built, around forty five years of age. Bill described Charlie Wiggins to me. The height and probable age correspond…"

"Are there dental records available?"

"Bill doesn't know if there was a family dentist. He never had a dental check until he went away to school. Most of the teeth are shattered anyway. The bullet exited through the jaw."

Mycroft sighs.

"The victims were killed where they were buried. You found the bullet. Does it give you any useful information?"

Dimmock scowls.

"Point four four. Left hand twist striations. I'd say fired from a long-barrelled pistol, if you pushed me. Possibly a Colt…"

Mycroft tenses, almost imperceptibly.

"May I see the bullet?"

Dimmock shakes his head.

"It's been logged as evidence. I can only give you photographs. You could probably get your minions to make a 3-D scan and print." He pauses. "Do you have information you would like to share, Mycroft? Whereabouts of a weapon that might have fired point four four ammunition, perhaps?"

"Not at the moment, Theodore. Only a theory." Mycroft smiles, closed-mouthed. "Leave the photographs with me, please."

 

*********

 

"Mycroft knows something he's not telling." Dimmock glances sideways at Sherlock. "Has he said anything to you?"

Sherlock chooses to answer a different question.

"Greg doesn't know anything. Bill has not mentioned any of the recent developments to him. I find that interesting."

"Changing the subject? He _has_ said something, and _you're_ keeping it to yourself as well. I could arrest you for obstructing my enquiry…"

Sherlock snorts

"Yes, I suppose you could. I would like to see you attempt to arrest my alleged co-conspirator…"

Dimmock sighs.

"I suppose he'll tell me when, or if, he's ready." He frowns. "What do you mean, Bill hasn't mentioned it to Greg?"

Sherlock leans back in his chair and crosses his feet on the corner of Dimmock's desk, ignoring the baleful look Dimmock gives him. He steeples his fingers, rests the tips against his lower lip.

"I spoke to Greg yesterday. He texted me first, of course. Wanted to meet for a _pint_."

"Is that significant? He often asks me to go for a pint with him. Or I ask him…"

"Theo, when have you known me to be anyone's first choice of drinking companion?"

Dimmock grins

"Point taken. What did he want?"

"To ask if I knew what you wanted to speak to Billy about so urgently the other day. It seems Billy was very upset when he arrived home, but would not discuss the cause with him. Greg assumed that whatever upset him was related to what you wanted him to see…"

Dimmock frowns.

"Yeah. He was too upset to ride his bike home. I gave him a lift, should have gone up to the flat with him, but I'd had a call to a crime scene. He said he'd be fine, and I knew Greg was indoors…"

Sherlock nods

"You and everyone else assume that Billy and Greg are a couple." He puts his feet down on the floor with a thump, stands up. "I am not sure their relationship is so easy to define, nowadays."

Dimmock moves quickly, putting himself between Sherlock and the door.

"Wait, Sherlock. You're going to rush off and interfere…"

Sherlock smiles.

"I'm getting slow, Theo. there was a time when I would have been halfway down the stairs before you'd stood up."

Dimmock grins.

"Are you admitting you're human? Where are you off to?"

"To talk to Greg. I think you should come, too. I'm a little worried about Billy."


	8. What's going on with Billy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luce and Billy talk about Greg. The detectives talk about Billy

" _Can I come over to see you?_ "

"Luka is out, Billi. He has to work today…"

" _I don't want to see Lucien._ "

"What is it you want, Billi? Can we talk on the telephone?"

" _I want company. I need company. I don't know what I'll do if I have to carry on like this. I need you, Arkasha._ "

Billy sounds very distressed. Arkady takes a deep breath, and lies.

"I also have to go out, Billi. Is Grisha not there?"

" _He's out. He's always out, lately._ "

Arkady hears Billy's voice break and makes a quick decision.

"Stay there. I will come over."

He puts his phone away, picks up his motorcycle keys and runs downstairs.

 

*********

 

The head lab technician taps Luce on the shoulder. Luce turns, powering down the wind tunnel he is testing and pushing his safety glasses up onto the top of his head, where they act as a hair band, keeping his curls off his face. He needs a haircut, but Arkady loves his ringlets, and he is reluctant to do anything to upset his husband just at the moment.

"What is it, Sam?"

"Visitor for you." He cocks his head toward the laboratory doors. "He's waiting outside."

Luce takes five strides to the double swing doors, pushes them open. Arkady is outside, fidgeting from foot to foot.

"What's happened?"

"Billi phoned, wanting to see me. I think he may be on the edge of doing something foolish. I do not want to see him without you also being there…"

Luce frowns.

"Okay. I'll just let Sam know, and meet you outside. I assume you've got my helmet with you?"

Arkady nods and walks back down the corridor to get the bike started. Luce is with him in less than five minutes. He climbs into the pillion seat of Arkady's new emerald green Harley Davidson Electra Glide Ultra, and they are away. It is raining hard, and traffic is heavy. Arkady has calculated that even with the stop to collect Luce, he can be at St John's Wood ten minutes quicker on the Harley than in his car, without taking any risks.

They make good time, and Luce trots up the stairs while Arkady parks the bike. He can hear shouting from inside the flat. Before he can ring the doorbell, the door slams open and Lestrade barrels out. He stops abruptly as he sees Luce.

"You're not Yegorov…"

Luce half-smiles

"I am. But I assume you mean I'm not _Arkady_."

Lestrade scowls

"Don't get clever with me. I'm not in the mood. Bill's waiting for Arkady. I thought maybe there was something going on…"

Luce puts a hand on Lestrade's arm.

"In Bill's head, maybe. This business with his mother has really knocked him sideways. He needs someone to cosset him a bit. Arkady's downstairs. Take him for a lemonade, or something. I'm going to have a word with Bill."

Lestrade sighs.

"I know he's upset. I don't know how to help him, Luce. "

Luce smiles, gently.

"You _do_ love him, Greg?"

"Yeah. But there's complications…"

"Arkady's not one of them. He's mine, Greg. And I'm not standing aside. Not for anyone. I'll talk to Bill. I've seen him like this before."

Lestrade nods and heads downstairs to intercept Arkady.

 

*********

 

"Talk to me, Bill."

"I thought Arkasha…"

"Not going to happen, Bill." Luce smiles faintly. "You've got him rattled, and I don't like it."

Billy walks across to the French windows, shudders at the rain. Goes out anyway, and lights a cigarette. Luce follows, puts an arm around his friend's shoulder. "

Talk to me."

Billy sags against Luce's side. Luce hugs tighter.

"I thought she'd gone off somewhere. Australia, maybe…"

"You must have had a reason to think that, Bill."

"Yeah, well. Charlie never liked me. I didn't know why. I thought he was my dad, of course, back then."

"But your mum…"

"She did what he told her. The only time she ever stood up to him was when he went for me. She wouldn't ever let him touch me, but he'd hurt _her_. I was really little when I was a kid. Too little to take him on, but I used to try." Billy sniffs. "Then I was sent away to school. They didn't even let me go home in the holidays, sometimes…"

Luce pats Billy's arm. It is a long time since they have been this close, and he feels a little awkward.

"Have you talked to DCI Dimmock? Or Sherlock?"

"Theo's investigating, but it's such an old crime scene…" Billy sniffs, wipes his nose on his sleeve like a ten-year-old. "Sherlock won't talk about his theories. If the male victim was Charlie, I think Siger must have either killed him, or had him killed. The female… my mum wasn't shot, though…"

"So you can't say for sure that they were both killed by the same person…"

"No." Billy shivers, pulls himself upright and away from Luce. "It's cold. Come inside, I'll make some coffee."

Luce follows, surprised at Billy's apparent abrupt change of mood. Billy switches on the kettle and pulls mugs and jars from a cupboard.

"It'll have to be instant…"

Luce shrugs.

"Instant's fine. Sounded like you were having a row with Greg earlier…"

"He came home and heard me talking to Arkady on the phone."

"He's jealous."

Billy doesn't answer, concentrates hard on making instant coffee and chamomile tea. Concentrates much harder than the job entails. After a minute or so, he turns and hands Luce a mug.

"I'm taking mine outside…"

Luce follows. The rain is still falling steadily, straight down.

"Stair rods, my gran used to call this sort of rain." Billy coughs out a harsh laugh. "I was thirteen before I found out what a stair rod was. We never had carpet on our stairs."

Luce takes a deep breath. He is about to say something that might cost him his friendship with Billy.

"Bill, you can't keep expecting Arkady…"

Billy interrupts him.

"I know. I won't call him again. I'm just so lonely, Lucien."

Luce sips his coffee, grimaces. It is not very good.

"You've just learned something big about your past…"

Billy shakes his head.

"It's not just that. I feel…." He sits on the fire-escape steps, ignoring the rainwater pooled in the cast-iron details. "I feel as if Greg might prefer it if I wasn't here."

Luce puts his mug down on Lestrade's little wrought-iron table. Rain drips into his coffee. " _Can't do it much harm_ ", he thinks. He looks closely at his friend. Billy looks very small, knees up to his chest, arms around them, shoulders hunched.

"You're losing weight again."

"Don't, Lucien. I don't need you nagging me as well as him."

"What makes you think he doesn't want you here?"

Billy shrugs.

"He doesn't touch me." He barks out a laugh at Luce's raised eyebrow. "You never knew us when we were together before. He could never keep his hands off me. I don't mean sexual touching, Lucien. Just, he'd ruffle my hair, pat me on the shoulder, sit up close on a pub bench…. You know, little touches. He hasn't done that since he brought me to live here."

Luce clears his throat.

"I'm assuming there's no sexual touching, either?"

Billy laughs

"Separate rooms. He shuts his door so he won't hear if I have a nightmare."

Luce stares.

"He doesn't comfort you?"

Billy shakes his head.

"He'll make tea if he happens to be awake, but he won't cuddle me. I think I might move out now Hero is away at school. I might go back to France…"

Luce frowns.

"Hero's at school in France, isn't she?"

Billy nods.

"Yeah. In Toulouse. But I wouldn't go there. I've got the little house in Aigues-Mortes…"

Luce hums against the back of his teeth. Considers what he knows about Billy and Lestrade.

"Bill. Have you _asked_ Greg to cuddle you?"

Billy gives him an ' _Are you stupid?_ ' look. Luce shrugs.

"It's just a thought. I know you're not brilliant at reading people…"

Billy laughs.

"I'm shit at it, I know. But he said we'd better not. It might bother Hero if she saw us…"

Luce frowns again.

"Why would it bother Hero if her Dada gives her Papa a hug?"

Billy shrugs.

"She's never known us as a couple. When she was little, I was with Arkasha." He gazes out into the rain. "I expect she's forgotten that now. She was only three when I went into prison. Memories from that age are rare. Even I…"

Luce nods.

"Yeah. But you're not with Arkady now, and if I have my way, you won't be again."

Luce nudges Billy along the step and sits beside him, grimacing as the cold, pooled rainwater soaks through the seat of his jeans.

"Bill, Arkady calls you and Greg soul mates…"

Billy sniffs.

"I used to think we were. We'd always get back together, no matter what happened in between. I thought…" He shivers. "I thought we might make a real go of it. Be together. Be a couple, a proper family."

"You don't think that now?"

Billy doesn't answer. He stares into the rain. Luce sits quietly with him. They both get very cold and very wet. Luce puts his arm around his friend.

"What will you do for holidays and stuff? If you move to France, I mean. You wouldn't stop him having access to his daughter, would you?"

Billy shudders, teeth chattering.

"No! Course not. The Toulouse house is Hero's, you know. She could go there for the holidays. Michelle and Claude will help look after her, and I'll see her there. I expect Greg will do the same. You know, I thought that when she went away to school, when we were on our own here…"

"You thought he'd leap into bed with you?" Luce smiles. "You know he was completely distraught when you got hurt. He nearly walked off the conspiracy case. Mycroft had to lean on him really hard to stop him giving himself away to Solange. He spent as much time with you as he could."

Billy leans against Luce, tries to control his shivering.

"He looked after me when I came out of hospital…"

"He wouldn't trust anyone else to. He loves you, Bill. I'm sure of it. Maybe he got out of the habit of touching you while you couldn't see. He wouldn't want to make you jump; frighten you…"

"Maybe…"

"You don't really _want_ to leave him, do you?"

"No."

Billy's voice is very small.

"Maybe you'll need to take the initiative, then. Climb into bed with _him_."

"What if he shoves me out?"

"Well, then you'll know, won't you?" Luce hugs Billy extra-tight. "Just promise me one thing. If he does reject you, and I'll be surprised if he does, but if…. Just don't do anything stupid. Don't ask Sherlock to help…"

 

*********

 

"We'll get the drinks." Sherlock shoves Lestrade down onto a bench seat. "Stay with him, Arkasha."

Sherlock and Dimmock push their way to the bar. They had arrived at Lestrade's flat just in time to see him storm out of the building, almost running Arkady down, and had dragged both of them into the nearest pub.

Arkady slides into the seat beside Lestrade. The pub is dark, crowded and smells of beer and meat pies. They are lucky to find a table, even this early. The after-work crowd won't start trickling in for another hour or so, but the smokers who usually frequent the garden benches have been driven inside by the torrential rain.

"Tell me why Billi telephoned me today."

Lestrade shrugs.

"Why wouldn't he? He always preferred you…"

Arkady grips Lestrade's arm, hard, just above the wrist.

"I will not hear nonsense from you, Grisha. You are speaking of old history. What has happened?"

"I don't know. He's drawing into himself. I can't help him, Arkasha. I don't know what he needs any more."

"He needs to get used to the idea that what he believed all his adult life about his mother may have been incorrect."

Sherlock puts two pint glasses down on the table and goes back to the bar for two more.

"He needs a boyfriend"

Dimmock carefully places the two shot glasses in his left hand down on the table, waits for Arkady to steady them before he lets go, then puts the two in his right hand down alongside them.

"What?"

Lestrade frowns at Dimmock, who responds by shrugging off his coat, throwing it on to the back of the bench where Arkady and Lestrade are sitting.

"Well, _you're_ not sleeping with him. And we all know now that he and Luce never got it together. He was never one for putting himself about much." He pauses, thinking. "I reckon the last person Bill had sex with was probably _him_."

He gestures vaguely towards Arkady, who coughs, spluttering his beer. Lestrade picks up one of the shot glasses and downs the contents in one gulp. Sherlock snorts.

"You could _not_ have tasted that."

Lestrade shakes his head.

"Think it might have been whisky…"

Sherlock _looks_ at Lestrade. The look tells him all he needs to know.

"If you have not re-established a…relationship with Billy, then you can hardly be surprised when he turns to someone else for comfort. Arkasha, if you cannot establish boundaries…"

Arkady scowls.

"What do you mean?"

Dimmock takes a large swig of his beer. Adds his two pence worth of observations.

"You let him take priority over Luce. Not often, I expect, but I've seen it happen. Like the other day, when he needed a cuddle. And today. Bill phones, and here you are. Bill's not good at reading people. He thinks you married Luce for a cover story…"

"I did not. And Luka came with me today."

"Yes. Billy thinks he's more important to you than Luce's work, now."

"He is not. He and I were finished a long time ago."

"So make sure he _knows_ that. You didn't need to come running today…"

"I thought he might do something foolish if I did not. He sounded… strange."

Sherlock clears his throat.

"He has had his opinion of his late mother turned on its head. He blames himself for not searching for her. Irrational, of course. She was likely already dead before he even knew she was missing." He turns his attention on Arkady. "You know of course that Lucien blames himself for Billy's injuries…"

"Da. He will not be persuaded that it was not his fault."

"Hm. But you see how his self-blame leads him to allow Billy more leeway than normal?"

"Da. But he is not happy."

"Of course not. But he still allows it."

"Not any more." Lestrade finishes his beer. "He was about to give Bill a piece of his mind when I left them earlier."

Sherlock catches Dimmock's eye across the table.

"Perhaps we should…"

Dimmock shakes his head.

"Luce is sensible. Let's get another drink in."

Dimmock and Sherlock head for the bar again. Lestrade starts to speak. The bar is noisy; Arkady has to lean in to hear.

"He was happy to live with me when he couldn't see. Happy to let me look after him. Happy that the three of us were a family at last. I thought that we'd be together, you know, but it was difficult for him to get used to the flat. He'd fall over my stuff…my shoes, my clothes. Me. He needed a room on his own."

Arkady squeezes Lestrade's hand. Waits for him to continue.

"After he recovered his sight, I thought… But there was never a right moment. He started working on his book, and shut me out, pretty much. I don't know what's in his head, Arkasha. I know he needs someone. I know he wants you…"

"He cannot have me. I came running today because I thought he might ask his brother to help him do something foolish."

"You mean drugs?" Lestrade shakes his head. "No. Bill wouldn't do that. The business with the King was a one-off. He wouldn't."

"He has had a very big shock. And there is no one to help him deal with it."

"He didn't even tell me about it. He's made it clear its none of my business."

Arkady scowls.

"Grisha, if you love him, you must _make_ it your business. Or you risk losing him."

"I think I've already lost him."

"Not yet. But if his brother engages a new handler for him…"

"Why would Mycroft do that?"

"Because he is his brother. Because he knows Billi will want to investigate his mother's death. Because he wants to keep him safe while he does it. Because I will refuse the charge if he offers it to me. Because I will ask Luka to refuse the charge if it is offered to him. Because _you_ have decided that Billi's business is not _your_ business." Arkady takes a deep breath. "You know Billi's history with his handlers. Do you want to take that risk?"


	9. Missed you.

Four detectives make their wobbly way through the streets of North London. None of them are drunk, exactly, but all are lightheaded, all are at the cheerful stage of approaching intoxication. It has rained heavily all day, but now the sky is clearing and the moon is bright. The pavements are slick and wet, and one of the men slips off the kerb, twisting his ankle.

"Bugger."

Lestrade gingerly tries putting weight on the foot, winces. Dimmock offers support. Lestrade puts an arm around his friend's neck, lets him take his full weight. Dimmock is soon struggling. Arkady props up the other side, and between them they half-drag, half-carry Lestrade home.

Sherlock stalks ahead, pretending not to be with the group. He reaches Lestrade's flat first, and rings the bell. Luce buzzes him in.

"Lestrade is on his way up. Arkasha and Theo are trying to manoeuvre him up the stairs".

Luce smiles

"Had a few drinks?"

Sherlock grins.

"Not enough to be drunk. Is there tea, by any chance?"

Luce scowls.

"There's a kettle in the kitchen. You know where everything's kept."

Sherlock humphs and goes to try to wheedle Billy into making tea.

 

*********

 

Lestrade smiles around the room affably.

"Does anyone want another drink? I've got a good scotch…"

Arkady opens his mouth to ask if there is a good vodka, too. He closes it with an almost audible snap of his teeth as he sees Luce's stern look.

"We'll be off, Greg. I've got work tomorrow." Luce gropes in Arkady's pocket for the keys to the Harley, ignoring the signs of amorous interest this invokes. " _You're_ on the pillion tonight, Major Yegorov."

Arkady mock-leers.

"I will hold on to you very tightly, Mister Yegorov."

Dimmock giggles. He sounds more like a teenager than a respectable DCI.

"Get a room, you two."

Luce grins.

"Going to do exactly that." He crosses the room and gives Billy a hug. "Call me, okay?"

Billy smiles faintly.

"Thanks, Lucien."

Dimmock closes the door after Luce and Arkady leave and goes back to the sitting room. Sherlock has not been able to persuade anyone to make him tea, and is making do with a very small glass of Lestrade's scotch.

"I'd better not drive tonight. Do you want to share a taxi, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shakes his head.

"I'm staying here tonight. Too late to go back to Sussex now…"

Dimmock frowns.

"Sherlock, Bill and Greg need to talk…"

"I'm not going to stop them talking. I might be able to help…"

Dimmock takes Sherlock's glass away, grabs him by the lapels and pulls his head down, hisses into his ear. " _They need to be alone._ "

Lestrade coughs. Billy flushes. Sherlock blinks, kisses Dimmock and flounces toward the door. He looks back, not at all coyly, over his shoulder.

"Coming then, Theo?"

 

*********

 

Billy wipes down the worktop, flings the damp tea towel into the sink and sighs. The only reply he gets is a loud snore from Lestrade, asleep on the sofa in the sitting room.

He walks quietly to Lestrade's room and pulls the duvet off the bed. It gets cold at night in the old building, and Billy knows Lestrade will wake up with aches and pains if he gets chilled while he is asleep. He gently lays the duvet over the sleeping detective, frowning as he realises Lestrade still has his shoes on. He carefully eases off the right shoe, but struggles with the left. The foot is swollen and the laces are pulled tight. Billy tries to slacken the lace enough to allow him to ease off the shoe, but can't manage to avoid disturbing Lestrade.

The sudden pain in his ankle half-wakes him, groggy from a little too much scotch and one beer too many. He has a brief flash of half-memory, half nightmare. _Dogs_. He is tangled up in something heavy and kicks out at his attacker with his right foot. He hears a gasp and a little cry and he is free and awake. Billy is crouched by the fireplace, blood pouring from his nose and brow, his eye already starting to swell.

"Bill?" Lestrade stands up and swears as his ankle gives way, tipping him down onto his knees. "Bill? Christ, did I hit you?"

Billy nods.

"I was trying to get your shoe off…"

Lestrade groans.

"I turned my ankle over on the way back from the pub. It's my weak one. It's a bit sore…"

Billy splutters out a laugh.

"Yeah. I got that."

"Are you _laughing_?"

"Better than crying. I was going to try to seduce you tonight. Fat chance…"

"Seduce me?"

"Yeah. But you fell asleep on the settee. And then kicked me in the head. You could have broken my nose…"

Lestrade sighs.

"I'm sorry, Bill. Come over here and let me look at that eye. It looks worse than your nose."

"We need to get your ankle looked at. It's really swollen."

 

*********

 

Lestrade pays the cab fare and hobbles to the front steps of the old police station. He has a surgical boot to protect a strained ligament and a crutch to lean on when he walks. Billy has got away with three stitches above his left eyebrow. Luckily his nose is not broken.

"Cabby was giving us funny looks…"

Billy holds out a hand to help Lestrade up the short flight.

"Yeah. Well, we do look as if we've been fighting. Bill, I'm not going to manage the stairs with this foot. Will you come in the lift with me?"

Billy nods. He knows Lestrade is too proud to mention his internal struggle with being in enclosed spaces.

"Here, put your arm round my neck. I'll help you hop to the lift."

Inside the lift, Lestrade keeps his arm around Billy. He doesn't let go until the narrow doorway to the flat forces him to.

"Bill…"Lestrade swallows, voice thickening. "Bill, what you said earlier…"

"What? That I was going to try to seduce you? Forget it. It was a stupid idea."

Lestrade lurches along the hallway, grabs hold of Billy's arm.

"Not stupid. If I hadn't kicked you, what would you have done?"

Billy shivers.

"I might have got under the duvet with you."

Lestrade takes a deep breath.

"We could still…"

Billy nods.

"Not the settee, though. Your room. Your bed's bigger than mine."

Lestrade's mouth is dry. He swallows, licks his lips.

"All right. Come to bed, Billy. I've missed you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the 'canon' characters, these are my OTP.


End file.
